Friday, June 26, 2009
the night
A glass slips through fingertips.
In a sea of orange. Rocking. Rocking.
Alone and.
Someone at the door.
Its locked. Its locked. Its locked.
Is it?
Too dark to tell.
Peek through the window?
NO. They'll see you...
It shatters.
The?
It shudders.
1 comment:
Poems of Long Ago
June 27, 2009 at 11:14 PM
for some odd reason, i really like this one alot.
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for some odd reason, i really like this one alot.
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